


l'amour se nourrit des plus petites choses

by colazitron



Category: One Direction (Band), Union J (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1790509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colazitron/pseuds/colazitron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry calls George who's not where or with whom Harry expects him to be.</p><p>or</p><p>Harry is in Sweden and George is on a holiday in France with Nathan Sykes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	l'amour se nourrit des plus petites choses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aimmyarrowshigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/gifts).



> The title comes from the quote "La haine, comme l'amour, se nourrit des plus petites choses, tout lui va." from Honoré de Balzac's _Le contrat de mariage_ which translates to "Hate, like love, lives off the smallest things, anything goes".

Sweden’s lovely. Harry’s always liked it here. The people are generally friendly, the weather has almost always been lovely to them and, cliché as it may sound, everyone does sort of look like a supermodel. Well, okay, not  everyone of course, but there’s something about the Swedish way of life and dress and just... everything that Harry appreciates a lot. So he’s in a superb mood when he hops off stage and crowds into the van with the other boys. This tour has, as they’ve honestly hoped, been a little less insane on the promo schedule between show dates. Once you reach stadium level, it seems, there’s no need to remind people that you exist. They’re already pretty aware of it.

 

Once back at the hotel he debates whether he should call George or shower first. It is already a bit late, but time’s on his side now that he’s ahead of George back in London, so he pulls off his clothes and steps into the bathroom. His good mood makes him unthinkingly hum the tune of Union J’s next single that George has recently sent him, remembering that the release of that should be coming up some time soon. He knows George worries about whether or not they’ll be able to pull their ship back around, so to speak, and convince the general public they’re worth spending money on with this sophomore album and a tiny frown sneaks onto his face. It’s difficult to genuinely empathise with George when their own first album did so well they didn’t have to worry about the second one as much, but he knows that Ed’s almost psyched himself out of doing a second album  at all and just because Harry hasn’t lived it doesn’t mean he can’t cheerlead. He’s a formidable cheerleader, if he says so himself.

 

So maybe his leisurely shower gets a rather rushed end, now that he’s thinking of George and worrying a bit about whether or not he’ll be sitting in London with his achey foot and his own worries. Once he’s towelled himself off enough to not leave the sheets wet, he grabs for his phone and falls back onto the big double bed, pulling at the duvet so it covers him a bit against the chill of the aircon on his damp skin. His hands-free kit is already plugged into the phone, so he dials George’s number and wriggles a bit to get the wrinkle he’s lying on to smooth out underneath his bum.

 

It takes four rings for George to pick up and by the third Harry worries that he’s maybe already gone to sleep. He’s met with the sound of people laughing and chattering in the background and just general  noise though, when George does pick up.

 

“Yeah, hello?” he says, like he hasn’t checked the display.

 

“Hiii,” Harry sing-songs just as cheers erupt on the other end of the line.

 

“Sorry, hi? I can’t really hear... who’s there?” George asks. Harry does very pointedly not pout or feel insulted.

 

“Harry,” he says.

 

“Oh, hi!” George replies, a giggle tacked on to the greeting like the ones he can’t help. He seems to move then, as the background noise fades a little.

 

“Hiya,” George says again. There’s barely any background noise now, safe for the rushing in the line that comes from someone being outside. This time Harry definitely smiles to himself.

 

“Hiya,” he repeats. “Are you having fun?” George should be having fun.

 

“I am!” George says, enthusiasm clearly audible in his voice. “England just scored a goal and everyone here either hates or loves it.”

 

“How unpatriotic!” Harry comments, grinning to himself at the thought of the England jersey Louis insisted on wearing on stage. Niall almost put on the Italian one just to spite him. Louis’ wrath, however, is not to be trifled with and neither is his dedication to his favourite sport.

 

“Well, not really. I think when it comes down to it people here just dislike England a tad more than Italy, but either way I’m pretty sure they’re happy one of them has to lose.”

 

Harry frowns at the ceiling and pulls the duvet a little higher up over his chest.

 

“Are you with the boys?” he asks because he doesn’t want to seem like he’s checking up on George but he does want to lift the confusion that’s in his head right now.

 

“Oh! No, I forgot to tell you,” George says. “I’m in France with Nathan on a little holiday!”

 

“Nathan?” Harry asks, wracking his brain for any Nathans George could’ve mentioned and trying not to motherhen him about literally just having had to visit the hospital for stepping on a giant piece of glass.

 

“Sykes,” George says.

 

“From  The Wanted ?” Harry asks, surprised into not keeping the surprise and, probably, slight disdain out of his voice. George giggles though, so he can’t sound too upset about it.

 

“Who else?” George asks.

 

“Um,” Harry asks, because he can think of fifteen people it’d make more sense for George to spend a holiday with in his brain than  Nathan Sykes.

 

“We’re friends, remember?” Harry does not, in fact, remember. He’s not sure George has ever told him, but he’s also sometimes got a horrible memory and next to no attention span. So.

 

“Um,” he says again and hopes George won’t be too miffed. “Since when?”

 

“A while now?” George says, voice a little off as well now. “Are you... you’re not seriously  bothered are you?”

 

“What? No, of course not. You can be friends with whoever.”

 

“Thank you,” George says, eyes audibly almost rolling out of his skull.

 

“No, I didn’t mean- oh, you know what I meant. I was just surprised. I don’t think you’ve mentioned it before.”

 

“Well, we met them on X-Factor and we swapped numbers and we’ve been texting more recently and he invited me to come along to France. You’re in Sweden and there’s not so much for us to do right now, so I thought why not?”

 

“That’s cool,” Harry says, still trying to wrap his head around the idea that George is friends with Nathan. George is so... sweet. And Nathan is so... not. Admittedly Harry doesn’t know Nathan very well but nothing about him has ever compelled Harry to want to change that.

 

“Are you jealous?” George asks.

 

“What? No,” Harry says immediately. If he didn’t trust George there’d be no point to having a relationship with him when they don’t get to see each other for such long stretches of time. “I’m way cuter than him. The internet says so.”

 

George laughs, at least.

 

“It’s true. You are,” George says then and Harry preens a little in his fluffy duvet.

 

“You could’ve come to Sweden,” Harry says then, trying not to sound like a petty child. He’d’ve invited George if he’d known he had the time to take a few days off.

 

“You’re working, though,” George answers as if Harry hasn’t spent most of the day sleeping or at the gym.

 

“Not that much. I’ve time off. ‘s not that bad this time around.”

 

“Well,” George says then, like he’s shrugging, “I’m in France now though. And I’m going back tomorrow, cause of the single release next week.”

 

It’s a blatant attempt to switch the topic and Harry thinks he knows why, thinks that George probably still shies away from being ‘Harry Styles’ hanger-on’ while his own career’s so wobbly. He understands that of course, rationally. But he still wants his boyfriend with him whenever he can. Especially because they get so precious little time together anyway.

 

“Yeah, I know,” he says and lets it go. “Are you excited?”

 

“Soo nervous,” George says. “But like, also in a good way. I really like it. I think people will like it.”

 

“I like it,” Harry says. “I’m sure people will love it.”

 

George sighs deeply and Harry wishes he could be there, could wrap him up and hold him close and shield him from the world at least, if he can’t make it go the way George wants it to.

 

“Yeah, I hope- oh, hang on.”

 

Then there’s a bit of conversation going on on George’s end of the line. Harry catches only bits and pieces of it, only George’s voice answering but it’s enough to clue him in that this is the end of their phone call.

 

“Sorry,” George says, when he’s back on the line.

 

“No, no, that’s fine. You’re out with friends, I didn’t mean to keep you.”

 

“Yeah, I... I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” George says, almost insecure and Harry wonders if this conversation feels entirely half-baked to him as well.

 

“Of course. I’m well knackered as well anyway. Probably just get an early night.” As much as midnight counts as an early night.

 

“Alright. Well. Sleep tight then,” George says. “Love you.”

 

“Love you too. Goodnight,” Harry replies, feels his voice go soft the way it absolutely always does over those words and then doesn’t wait to hear the line go dead. He stares up at the ceiling and consciously smooths his face out, reminding himself not to be ridiculous. George has friends and George likes being with those friends. Just because Nathan Sykes has publically slagged Harry’s band off doesn’t mean George shouldn’t be friends with him if he wants to.

 

(Doesn’t it though? Harry can’t imagine he’d hold someone who were rude about Union J in very high regard. Unless maybe Nick counts. Even though George and he get on fairly well, actually.)

 

The noise of an incoming text startles Harry out of his thoughts and when he lifts his phone up to check what it is, he’s met with George’s face scrunched up into a ridiculously overdone kissy expression. He can’t help the quiet huff of laugh at it and the way the rest of the tension falls from his body at it. Harry dares anyone to have a different reaction to a boyfriend as adorable as George. If he pushes the duvet down far enough to show he’s not got pants on and ruffles his hair up a bit before he sends one back, well. He’ll allow himself a bit of childishness.

 

 

** The End **


End file.
